


Grantaire: Breadwinner and Countryman

by pourcesalaud



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Real World, Current Events, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pandemic - Freeform, Pining, Road Trips, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pourcesalaud/pseuds/pourcesalaud
Summary: The pandemic strikes during Grantaire's last year of high school. Isolated from his friends, the summer ahead looks awful and gets even worse when Enjolras announces he's leaving town to campaign. But a clever Combeferre has other ideas.*Loosely set in the insanity that was 2020*
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Grantaire: Breadwinner and Countryman

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about any mistakes as this is unbeta'd

“Two chicken, one bbq, one mac, two fries!” Clark shouted at him from the drive-through window.

Grantaire nodded, turning to make the orders. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he had to clench his fists to avoid reflexively wiping his forehead. Clark was only other employee in the kitchen today, and would gladly dock his hours again for touching his face or breathing too hard or drinking water too slowly. Despite the May heat creeping upwards, Clark also refused to turn on the AC like the coldblooded little lizard he was. Perks of working with the owner’s son.

Grantaire hadn’t expected to miss school. But considering the fuckfest the rest of his life was, it made sense. As he funneled fries into paper sleeves, he felt his phone buzz in his pants pocket. Better not be Ms. Ellison again, he thought. Some of the tech-savvy teachers had taken a shine to the SMS alert tool, so now he regularly got the lovely surprise of You have 7 late assignments when he was hoping for a text from Bahorel or Ep.

The moment the clock hit 3 pm, Grantaire bolted out the back, shedding his plastic gloves and apron as he went. His hands were somehow still greasy, so he wiped them on his jeans before fishing out his phone.

_Courfeyrac: hey whats up?_

He paused, curious. Courfeyrac had always been happy as anything to shout a welcome to Grantaire when he showed up at Amis meetings, but hardly ever texted. The last text he’d gotten was months ago, after the Halloween party. A photo of a gray beanie on the floor followed by “this urs???” Grantaire didn’t bother replying, still battling his hangover. The next meeting, he’d come in to see Courfeyrac wrestling the beanie on to an indignant Enjolras’s head, and his stomach had dropped uncomfortably when Enjolras relented. Then he yanked it off and tossed it in Grantaire’s direction. He hadn’t wanted to put it on after, and instead stuffed it in his pocket like he was trying to save what it contained.

_Grantaire: not much, at work. hbu?_

The reply came quickly.

_Courfeyrac: im chillin!_

_Courfeyrac: yo we miss u dude_

_Courfeyrac: u never join our calls!_

He cringed. The video calls were apparently still going on as a sorry replacement to their meetings. He couldn’t bring himself to go, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to lounge around, making jokes and interjecting as he pleased. His stupid fucking thumbnail would light up every time he talked and they’d all be forced to look at him and realize just how out of place he was.

_Grantaire: not rlly my speed yanno_

Anyhow, nowadays he could hardly go to the library of a cafe to bum some high-speed WiFi.

_Courfeyrac: oh dw I get it_

_Courfeyrac: well we’re doing a park meeting this weekend, u shd come!_

_Courfeyrac: social distanced ofc_

His eyebrows shot up. How on earth could they have gotten hypochondriac Joly to agree to this? The club insisted on unanimous agreement. Was everyone going to be there? Was Enjolras?

_Grantaire: yeah sure, when and where?_

_Courfeyrac: lowery park, 2pm saturday. meet in the parking lot_

_Grantaire: cool, see u then :)_

Grantaire shut of his phone quickly, embarassed. It had been nearly a month since he’d seen his friends, save Joly at the drive-through last week. He’d tried not to think about it, but now that they were on his mind, a wave of longing crashed over him helplessly. He missed those crusading assholes, goddamnit.

When Clark yelled for him, he headed back to the restaurant with a smile.

\- - - - - - - - -

Thankfully he didn’t have to risk asking for the car, since Lowery Park was in biking distance. He pulled on his usual basketball shorts and was about to head out the door when he caught a glance of himselve in the hall mirror and paused. He imagined Combeferre in his button-downs, Musichetta in her tiered patchwork frocks, and Jehan in his artfully cropped tees. Grantaire scowled at his getup. He looked the same as had in middle school, scrawny and childish, wasting away every summer in the heat. He went back to his room, and changed into a flannel, which was too warm but clean at least and covered more, and his most ripped pair of jeans. Slightly more satisfied, he headed out, scrawling “OUT BIKING” on the fridge door. He almost forgot to grab a mask until he remembered he’d actually be near people today.

Cosette and Marius were already standing in the lot when he arrived, having parked next to one another. They guiltly jumped apart when he cycled by, despite already being several feet apart.

“Grantaire! I’m so glad you’re here!” Cosette exclaimed.

“Missed you too, lovebirds,” Grantaire called over his shoulder as he locked up his bike. He was already sweating from the ride, and gave his shirt a few billows to cool off inside.

They smiled back at him. “No helmet still?” Marius asked as Grantaire makes his way over. “Good thing Joly’s not here yet.”

“Yeah, is he coming?” Grantaire wondered.

“He is,” Cosette said with a laugh. “He’ll be a good ten feet away from everybody though, so don’t get offended if you’re his neighbor in the circle”

Grantaire came to an awkward stop at a distance, unsure where to stand. He settled on wandering over to the nearby lightpost and leaning up against it.

Down the street, a car stopped and out jogged Combeferre from the passenger seat, with a bookbag slung over his shoulder. A wheezing engine announced the arrival of Feuilly and Bahorel, in Feuilly’s dented secondhand car. To the bitter jealousy of most, they had moved in together as soon as they’d accepted their admissions to the city college. Well, Bahorel moved in to Feuilly’s apartment, which he had attained earlier that year when he’d aged out of foster care.

“I didn’t realize you lived so close,” Combeferre offers in greeting.

“Not that close, right?” Feuilly points out, shutting the car door behind him. “You’re on Merrell and Dovecot right?” Feuilly had an uncanny memory for streets, probably due to his time as a delivery boy.

Grantaire shrugged. “Like 7 miles.”

Soon enough, Enjolras arrived, sparking the group to attention in the way he always did, followed by Courfeyrac, who immediately set off several raucous jokes, and then Jehan, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Joly, who parked several spots away.

All in attendance, the gaggle of students moved off to the park, spreading out on a weedy patch of grass by the pond. The conversation started off light, and Grantaire was happy to hear the latest news from everybody. Musichetta excited discussed her latest comissioned dress, Combeferre bemoaned the hiccups in the library’s new staff policies, and Bossuet recapped his latest disasters at the grocery. But eventually, spurred by Enjolras, talk turned to politics and Grantaire found himself fading out, unwilling to spar that day. There was no escaping to a corner of the room or lounging in the shadow of others - he felt pinned to his spot on the grass like a taxidermied bug. He was debating the possibility of just taking off and diving into the pond when Combeferre, to his left, quietly tossed something between them. He leaned over to find a notebook and pencil, and Combeferre winked at him as he shut his bookbag. Grantaire gave him a grateful smile, and then Combeferre turned away to say something about gerrymandering.

Lying on his stomach, Grantaire flipped the notebook to the closest empty page and poised the pencil above it. He first sketched the overall scene - the circle of students, the oak tree spread above them, the pond, the distant road, the clouds in the sky. Then he sketched Cosette, sitting cross legged with her hands folded primly in her lap. Next was Joly, on his little picnic blanket, eyes sparkling over his face mask. Eventually, he’d drawn every other member of the club and only Enjolras remained. He reluctantly turned his eyes to Enjolras, who was in the middle of an animated speech, hands gesticulating energetically. He looked the same as he always did, but somehow different. It was his slightly mussed curls, probably from the breeze. No, it was that he was sitting on the ground, heels planted in front of him as if he were about to spring up. Or was it the sight of him in cutoffs, so unlike the plain pants he wore to school year round? Grantaire realized that he’d never really seen Enjolras in any casual context, and it was infuriatingly adorable. So he sketched Enjolras, forgetting to be discreet. At some point, Enjolras looked from Combeferre to Bahorel and caught Grantaire staring at him in the middle. Grantaire almost jumped, and then Enjolras was looking away again. He ended up sketching Enjolras staring straight at the viewer.

When the meeting petered out, it had only gotten hotter out, the naked summer sun blazing down. He handed back Combeferre’s notebook and pencil with thanks. He joked around with Bahorel and Feuilly as they trudged back towards the lot.

“See you next time, yeah?” Bahorel called as the pair climbed into Feuilly’s car.

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, silently finishing _“if I’m invited_ ” in his head.

“I’m buying you a helmet, I swear!” Joly yelled from from several spaces down.

He laughed. Somehow he didn’t doubt it.

As he rode out of the park, he felt oddly light and pushed himself to go faster. He’d missed everyone, and even though it wasn’t the same, it felt better. A drop of sweat fell into his eyes and he cursed himself for not bringing a hat. The long sleeves of his shirt stuck to his skin, getting sweat-logged. He soon gave up and on a flat stretch of sidewalk, pedaled hands-free as he peeled the shirt off and tied it around his waist. Something made him glance over his shoulder and when Enjolras’s ridiculous red car zoomed past, he only flexed a little bit.

\- - - - - - - - -

The next time he saw Les Amis, school was officially out. Courfeyrac invited him again - apparently it was his job or something, to pity-wrangle Grantaire into their park meetings - and he came. He got overexcited again and forgot to bring his own sketchbook, so he was once again graced by the angel that was Combeferre. As the bunch began discussing the latest election cycle, Grantaire got comfortable in the grass and flipped to an empty page in Combeferre’s notebook. Then he remembered the previous meeting, and flipped back. He immediately found his previous sketches, which stuck out like a sore thumb among Combeferre’s many pages of neat, dense writing. To his surprise, Combeferre had drawn little speech bubbles at a respectful distance from each figures head, filled with nonsensical text like “Who’s stolen my artichokes again” and “I’m a proud citizen of the Republic of Jehan.” Grantaire couldn’t help grinning as he read them. Over Enjolras’s head, “I want YOU to stop putting pineapple on pizza” and over Combeferre’s head, “I love Courfeyrac.” It pleased him that Combeferre had entertained himself with his drawings, and he started on a new set.

He was just adding some finishing touches to them hem of Cosette’s dress when Enjolras’s voice knocked him out of his reverie.

“Alright, I have one more announcement. A personal announcement.”

Grantaire peeked out from under his hair, interested.

“I’m moving up north this weekend to volunteer for Damon’s campaign this summer.”

Jaws dropped. “Wait, seriously?” somebody exclaimed.

“I didn’t tell you sooner because I wasn’t sure if it was happening, but I just got permission and it’s all happening pretty quickly. I’ll still host the weekly call of course, and I’m happy to call anybody to talk about anything if you’d like.”

“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac declared. “You should have told us earlier today at least! I could have brought cake or something!”

“Well, sharing food isn’t exactly…” Joly piped in.

The group devolved into chattering about how they’ll give Enjolras a proper send-off, interrogating Enjolras about his plans at the same time. Grantaire gripped the pencil in his hand too hard.

He’d known this was inevitable. They’d all graduate. Grantaire would spend all summer desperately trying to cross paths with Enjolras a few more times, and then Enjolras would fuck off to Yale while Grantaire ran the opposite direction to art school. He just wasn’t expecting it to come so soon. He didn’t even know how to say goodbye.

“Are they paying you?” Musichetta asked bluntly.

“No,” Enjolras said. “They don’t have the funds to pay student volunteers.”

“So you’re renting by yourself?” Bahorel said, surprised.

“Yeah,” Enjolras sighed. “Nobody’s taking roommates for obvious reasons. But I found a good place, and I have enough saved for at least the first month while I find a part-time job. It’s going to cut into the time I have to work on the campaign but it’s still better than trying to reach them from here.”

Courfeyrac whistled. “Our boy is all grown up!” he crowed, earning a scowl.

When they finally retreated to the parking lot, there were promises of letters, care packages, and more than one tearful goodbye. Enjolras looked deeply uncomfortable. Grantaire lingered as unobstrusively as he could, chatting with Bossuet as an excuse to watch Enjolras until he left. Combeferre seemed to be lingering too, which reminded Grantaire that he was still clutching his notebook and pencil. He went over, holding out the two.

“Sorry about your pencil,” he said sheepishly, as he passed over the bent pencil.

“No worries,” Combeferre smiled. “Would you mind hanging on a little? There’s something I want to talk to you about in private.”

“Sure,” he said, confused. What could Combeferre possibly have to discuss with him? Perhaps it was about the drawings. Grantaire had gotten commissions from classmates before. He usually agreed, unless they were flat out vain portrait requests. After they waved goodbye to the last members, Combeferre grew serious.

“So you know how Enjolras is moving this weekend?”

“…yeah?”

“Hmmm.” Combeferre crossed his arms over the strap of his bag. “Don’t tell him I said this, but I’m really quite worried about him. He’s never actually lived on his own, and his parents are less okay with this than he’s letting on.”

“Yeah, but what Enjolras wants, Enjolras gets, right?” Grantaire joked.

Combeferre smiled a little. “But sometimes what Enjolras needs, Enjolras does not want, you know what I mean?”

Grantaire had no idea what he meant and said as much.

“Look,” Combeferre tried again. “What I’m saying is that I’m concerned for his wellbeing all alone. And... he did tell me before anybody else.”

“Wow,” Grantaire said. “Way to rub it in that you’re his best friend out of us all.”

“Just a few days ago! And I’d guessed he was trying to plan it for a while. I’d go with him if I could, but my parents barely let me work 2 shifts at the library each week so…”

“Yeah, that would be a pretty big gesture,” Grantaire remarked. “I still don’t know why you’re telling me this?”

“Can you go with him?” Combeferre blurted, going a bit red.

“What?”

“Go with him. To Colchester.”

“To what?”

“That’s the name of the town.”

Grantaire looked up to the sky. It was too bright, so he looked back down at his feet.

“He doesn’t know you’re asking me this, does he?”

“Nope.” The bastard didn’t even look guilty.

“He trusts you with this big secret and you go behind his back,” Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t if it weren’t important. And anyways, I’m just asking a question,” he said serenely.

He had a million questions. What came out was, “Why me?”

“Well,” Combeferre said, clearly ready. “Feuilly and Bahorel are tied to their lease. Courfeyrac is basically raising his siblings. Joly is terrified of going anywhere. Musichetta and Bossuet are the only ones keeping Joly sane. Cosette is homeschooled by her overprotective dad. Marius loves Cosette. Jehan told me it wasn’t in his destiny. We covered me already. Which leaves you.”

“You know, I have a job,” Grantaire argued, only a little defensive.

“I bet you could get at better one in Colchester.”

“-and I have a family,” he added weakly.

Combeferre just looked at him.

“Okay fine,” he relented. “I’m the only mobile bachelor in the group. Sure. But why - why would Enjolras want me to move across the country with him? We’re not exactly best friends.”

“Hey, you’re friends,” Combeferre said chidingly. “You could be closer, but he likes you!”

Grantaire stared at him. “Right, and hell’s frozen over.”

“Please don’t be dramatic. I think he’d be better off with you.”

“Okay, okay,” Grantaire rubbed his face in the shoulder of his shirt, trying not to parse Combeferre’s words too hard. This was by far the most bizarre conversation he’d ever had with any of Amis, and that was counting the time he got Enjolras to argue in favor of the Conservative party. “What exactly do you want me to do? Cook his dinner? Do his laundry?”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Just be a normal roommate. I just don’t want to see him there all by himself, you know? Any normal human needs at least one friend nearby.”

“Enjolras is not a normal human,” he muttered, receiving only a sigh in response. This whole proposition was far too tempting. But it was just a question. There was no guarantee that Enjolras would like the sound of any of this. Still, invasive images of him and Enjolras lifting boxes into a pristine apartment floated through his head. Him and Enjolras watching a movie together. Him and Enjolras having dinner over a real dinner table. This was horrible. Combeferre was evil.

He caved. “Fine. But I’m not telling him myself. You better come clean about your plotting.”

“Of course,” Combeferre grinned benevolently. “I’ll call him right away. You go home. He’ll text you.”

Shaking his head, Grantaire loped off to unlock his bike. There was no underestimating quiet, bookish Combeferre.

That evening, he paced restlessly around his room, phone in his pocket. He’d check to make sure his notifications were on about five times already. It was ridiculous - he felt like a freshman before his first date. He kicked around the clothes he’d left on the ground and studied the posters on his walls. Could he imagine just packing up and leaving the room he’d inhabited for the past six years? Wasn’t that what he’d been dying to do since his father moved the two of them to this town?

At around 7pm, his phone buzzed and he scrambled to check it.

_1823511492: Hey Grantaire_

_1823511492: Combeferre told me about his plot_

Grantaire scrambled to set up a contact, and then hesitated before replying.

_G: Yeah sneaky dude am I right_

_E: Ha ha_

_E So are you really interested?_

_G: Yeah, I could try make it work._

_E: Wow_

_E: Thank you so much_

He boggled at the words on his screen. He was pretty sure Enjolras had never thanked him before. It wasn’t as if he’d ever done Enjolras any favors.

_G: Haha thx_

_G: Are u interested?_

There was a long, nerve-wracking pause.

_E: Ferre has a good point. I’ve never lived alone before. I would be honored if you’d come with me._

Grantaire squinted at the screen. Did Enjolras always text like an Arthurian knight?

_G: Ill talk to my dad and boss._

_E: Wonderful. I’ll ask the landlord if he’d be ok with it. Probably will._

He tossed his phone on his bed, and the picked it back up, heart pounding weirdly. This was unimaginable. Enjolras wanting to be around him, and then Enjolras thanking him for agreeing to be around him? He tried not to spiral, and instead focused on the promises he’d made. First, he would text his boss, then he’d bring it up to his dad. One step at a time. His phone buzzed.

_E: By the way my lease starts on Tuesday so I’m planning on leaving that morning._

He took a deep breath. One step at a time.


End file.
